“Please, Mith Wopp, the latht windthorm upthet our hen-houth.”,
“Some of the real stuff,” he requested, “just to make these folks realize they haven’t begun to live yet.”,
For five hundred dollars a week he had pranced to the admiring vaudeville audience; but once let the artist lay bare his soul in real music and whispering reaches his ear. But there was no use complaining, no one could understand his disgust..
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